


Papá

by SarahWritesThings



Series: Letters to Home [2]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Canon Compliant, Episode: s06e24 Life Line, Family Dynamics, Gen, Heavy Drinking, Light Angst, Maquis days, Regret, post episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-29 15:02:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19402741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarahWritesThings/pseuds/SarahWritesThings
Summary: John Torres, at a distant outpost, finally hears from his daughter.





	1. 2370

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During her Maquis day, B'Elanna thinks about her relationship with her father.

He found her in a bar. Tom hadn’t even been intending to find her, but he had wandered in, ready to relax for the evening, and seen her at the counter. Not the typical location of the fiery half-Klingon engineer, but not unusual for the average Maquis freedom fighter.

B’Elanna was hunched over, sat in tall stool at the bar, nursing what was clearly not her first glass of disgustingly dull ale.

“So, why are we drinking tonight?”

She sent the smallest of glances his way, “excuse me?”

“I always find that copious amounts of alcohol deserve a special occasion.”

“And what do you suppose the special occasion should be?”

“I can usually come up with something.”

She snorted, turning away from him and downing what remained of her glass.

“I’m sure you can, Paris, but I have no interest in become your next drinking buddy, or worse, your next conquest.”

He chuckled and gestured to the bartender for new drinks. “And what would be so bad about either of those options?”

“Well, for starters, they both include you.”

There was the spark he knew and loved. “You wound me, Torres, you know that?”

“B’Elanna.”

She had stiffened at his words. Her response had been tense and guttural. It threw him off guard.

“What?”

“My name is B’Elanna. Don’t call me _Torres_.”

“First name basis implies a close relationship.”

There was no quick response, no witty and scathing retort. She kept her face turned away from him, voice barely above a whisper, even in the chaos of the bar.

“Just….don’t call me Torres. Not today.”

He slid into the seat next to her. “See, I told you drinking needed an occasion.”


	2. 2376

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Torres learns his daughter is alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read B'Elanna's letter here: ["Letters To Home", Chapter Two](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18125825/chapters/42854507#workskin).

The man had been there for hours. His dark eyes were only visible when he raised his head to take a swig of his beer, then he would look down again, as if memorizing the grain of the wood bar.

The bartender made her way down the bar, coming to stand in front of him. “Do you want to talk about?”

He looked up sharply. “Excuse me?”

“That’s your sixth glass of the night. Either you have the alcohol tolerance of a Klingon, or something’s on your mind. So either you talk about it, or I’m cutting you off and sending you home.”

The man snorted humorlessly, “the _tolerance of a Klingon_ , that’s funny.”

She smiled generously. “Sorry, I’m missing the joke.”

“My ex-wife was Klingon.”

“Ah, I see,” the bartender nodded wisely, leaning closer. “Marriage trouble driving you to drink? You wouldn’t be the first one.”

“The marriage ended twenty years ago, it’s my kid we’re drinking to, now.”

She paused, trying to gauge the situation. Finally, she asked, “why?”

His body sagged towards the counter, his weight leaning on his elbows. “She died, almost seven years ago.”

“I’m sorry, what happened to her?”

“I’m not sure….”

The bartender kept her eyes trained on the man, as she leaned for a glass of her own. “What was her name?”

“B’Elanna.”

Solemnly, the bartender raised the glass, “to B’Elanna.”

“ _B’Elanna_.”

* * *

The next morning, John Torres woke with a splitting headache. Somehow, he had made it back to his ship, he suspected the kind bartender had arranged some kind of transportation, as she had been the only person he had talked to the entire time he sat in the bar. He wasn’t sure whether or not he was glad for it.

Rolling over he regretted, not for the first time, choosing a cargo ship for his transportation method of choice. The beds were notoriously hard and uncomfortable, especially on a hangover.

He glanced at the chronometer, taking in the lateness of the hour.

1145.

Well that mostly explained the rocking of the floor. The ship had been schedules to depart at 0700 hours.

He dragged himself to his feet, knowing that he would need to do something before his liver gave out completely. He took some deep breathes, hoping to quell the spinning of the room, before reaching for the hypospray he kept in his luggage, just for mornings like these. The familiar hiss felt like a medicine all of its own.

As he waited for the medication to begin coursing through his veins, he grabbed the flask beside his bed, the cold water acting as another small blessing.

Feeling a little sturdier in his socks, John moved to the small console, sat on the sideboard of his tiny room. The brightness of the screen sent a jolt through his system, but he shook away the vertigo.

As the message blinked into existence before him, his heart froze.

> TO: JOHN TORRES
> 
> FROM: LT.JG. B’ELANNA TORRES, USS VOYAGER

He couldn’t comprehend what he was reading. _Voyager_? That was the name of the ship that had gone missing, that had been looking for B’Elanna’s Maquis ship. That’s what Starfleet had said, the first time they had contacted him, back when he was on Earth.

The stamp confirmed that it was an official Starfleet communication, forwarded to him by some fancy security department.

He had seen the papers. _Voyager Crew Declared Dead After Two Years_. The Maquis had been an afternote, at the end of the article. They hadn’t been included in the official memorial.

And yet.

Before he could stop them, his eyes drifted to the first line, and filled with tears.

> _Hola mi Papá._

The words on the page were the standard Starfleet text, stamped across the screen, but underneath them were the words of his _daughter_. Of the little girl he thought he had lost so many years ago.

_B’Elanna._

He read hungrily, soaking each shape on the screen as if it was a lifeline.

By some miracle of God or Kahless or whatever supreme deity existed, she was _alive_. Lost in the Delta Quadrant, thousands upon thousands of light years away, but she whole and happy.

And that was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I had been toying with some ideas for this fic for a while after writing "Letters to Home", but it was really the sweet comments on the original story that inspired me to actually get it down on paper. So a special thanks to every person that commented, I warms my heart to hear that people actually like my work and want to read more <3.


End file.
